


Sweet Nothings

by Skyson



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2019-01-01 03:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12147300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyson/pseuds/Skyson
Summary: Plural noun;1. Words of affection exchanged by lovers,2. Loving remarks or comments





	Sweet Nothings

**Author's Note:**

> Lizzington brain-dump inspired by some lines in one of the S5 trailers. Fluff, humour, and smut. AU in that none of the daddy crap has happened. This was sort of a one-run go, so the flow might be a little odd. Rated for sexytimes because let’s be real: of course I’m gonna write Liz and Red having fun together. :-] Listened to “Petricor” by Ludovico Einaudi while I was writing, if that sort of thing interests you.

 

> _“Had to borrow something from Paulo,”_
> 
> _“What color is that? Pumpkin?”_
> 
> _“His wife says it's Tuscan Sunset.”_
> 
> _“It looks like a pumpkin.”_

* * *

 

 

“Lizzie!” Reddington announced gaily across the war room, strolling out of the elevator as if he owned the place. Liz had an innate feeling that he was about to suggest something in effort to throw her off balance, so she quickly beat him to the punch,

“Yes, Pumpkin?” She kept her tone innocent and off-handed, as if she'd thought nothing at all of her reply.

Red visibly hesitated, drawing to a stop before he reached their desks, his eyebrows lifting in surprise just above the rim of his sunglasses.

Liz smirked, ignoring the sudden and noticeable silence from her coworkers, who had all stopped what they'd been doing and stared at her.

The expression on Red’s face more than made up for any odd looks that were thrown her direction from the others, and Cooper cleared his throat soon enough and finished explaining the mission plan.  


**\----------  
**   


“Lizzie, may I borrow your car again for a few hours or so?” Red requested very carefully, wincing a bit as he assumed this would bring on an argument. “I _swear_  I'm not doing anything illegal. And I'll return it without a scratch or single bullet hole!”

“Sure thing, Pumpkin.” Lizzie answered distractedly, maneuvering papers around as she and Samar pored through boxes of files.

Lizzie made a point not even to look up, though she focused her peripheral to notice Red’s lips part slightly; surprised once again. He also seemed a little flustered, but she couldn't tell that for sure without directly looking at him. Samar, to her left, froze halfway through tugging a file out of one of the boxes.

“Keys are in my purse, on my desk,” Liz murmured, waving her hand lazily toward the direction of her office.

There was a silent beat before Reddington’s shoes sounded away, and Liz marked herself another point on her side of the scoreboard in her head, unable to keep the tiny smirk from the corners of her lips.

“What's going on?” Samar wondered slowly, not deeply suspicious of anything in particular, but her curiosity was definitely sparked.

“Hmm?” Liz feigned, lifting her eyes toward her coworker now. “Oh, he doesn't have his own car yet.” She sighed, and shrugged, “I figure if he's not doing anything illegal, he can use my personal car. We're going to be here for a few more hours at least, anyway.”

Samar opened her mouth, no doubt to clarify that her question had not been in regards to the car, but she pressed her lips back together before she said anything. She nodded and focused back on their task, though Liz figured this wouldn't be the last time someone wondered about her nickname for Red, especially since she wasn't planning on stopping until Red admitted defeat.  


**\----------  
**   


“Lizzie, my men haven't fully secured the warehouse yet.” Red grouched, deep lines furrowing his brow as he slipped off his jacket and accepted the bulletproof vest from Dembe. “I would rather you stay in the car,”

Before he could finish, Liz snorted a laugh devoid of humor.

“I'm an FBI agent, Reddington. Not to mention that I handled myself while we were on the run, didn't I?”

“Just _be careful_ ,” Red ordered, knowing that arguing wouldn't get her to back down, huffing a frustrated breath as he firmly tugged the side straps closed around his torso.

Liz stepped closer to him, her own vest already in place, and made sure the shoulder straps were snug, her fingers brushing briefly against his neck.

“Of course, Pumpkin.” She replied softly, but more than loudly enough that Dembe and Baz heard her.

Red, distracted by the wispy touch of her fingers, took a moment to react. It was only after Baz snorted an amused chuckle did Red frown chidingly at Liz.

“Elizabeth,” He warned lowly, her name rolling like a growl from the back of his throat.

It sent tingles down her spine, but she ignored that, and smiled demurely as she stepped away from him and pulled her pistol free from its holster.

“Let's get going while we still have the element of surprise,” She suggested, and Dembe nodded in agreement.

“The ground floor has been cleared silently, but as you've ordered we've not entered the second or third floors yet.” Dembe informed Red, his eyes still sparkling with amusement, and curiosity.

Red pursed his lips at his old friend, and Dembe dutifully dropped it, at least for now.

Red knew that sooner or later, they were going to wonder about the nickname. He was the fucking _Concierge of Crime_ , for crying out loud - he had an image to keep, including in front of the two men who knew him better than most. Perhaps, especially in front of them.

He needed to figure out retribution for this little game of Lizzie’s, but first, they needed to secure this warehouse.

He shifted his holster from the back of his pants to his right hip, thumbing open the latch and checking the gun was ready to fire. He tucked it back, keeping the latch open, and reached into the trunk of Baz’s “borrowed” beater to retrieve the shotgun.

“I guess we're finished with the quiet shadow tactics?” Liz mused, raising her eyebrow as he tucked the butt of the weapon into the crook of his elbow and began loading up the pockets of his vest with shells.

Red could've been seeing what he wanted to see, but he was fairly certain he could recognize that glint in her eye. He straightened his spine a little, a small grin on his lips.

Perhaps, if Lizzie liked it so much, he should find reason to carry around a shotgun more often.  


**\----------  
**   


She kept it up all the way through November, dropping her little nickname for him seemingly at random. Sometimes days would go by and Red would think she'd finally given up, but no, then she'd drop it so casually and seamlessly during a conversation in the Post Office it was everything she could do not to laugh at the consternated expression on Red’s face.

Though, noticeably, he never once asked her to stop calling him that. He never said, “Enough, Lizzie,” in that tone that brooked no argument.

He _did_  show up with Dembe midway through November, his best friend/bodyguard wearing a suit that made her stop in her tracks, though.

It was rust orange, with a modern cut though still looking like it fell straight out of the 70’s. He'd paired it with what she was sure was Red’s favorite beige hat, and if anyone could have a suit specifically for the Thanksgiving holiday, Liz figured this was probably it. The tie was a shock of blue that somehow worked with the ensemble, and she could do nothing but gape at him as he followed Red across the floor, approaching Aram’s desk where she stood.

“Going to a costume party later?” Samar teased with a smirk as she looked Dembe up and down.

Dembe’s lip twitched, but he said nothing. Clearly, he’d been put up to this, and Liz guessed that his reward would be substantial.

Red looked immensely proud of himself, particularly hopeful as he waited for what Liz would say.

“Wow, Dembe,” Liz mused, stepping up to the large man and giving him an appreciative look over, even touching her hand against the lapel of his suit for a moment. “Does Red keep you away from suits because he knows the competition is fierce?”

“What?” Red frowned, his smug look completely disappearing.

“We have a mission, right? You need me undercover in a pretty dress?” Liz wondered hopefully, tucking her arm around Dembe’s elbow.

Dembe grinned, his lips still pressed together, though he lifted one eyebrow slightly in Red’s direction. He was the smug one, now, and Red looked almost like he was constipated.

Dembe certainly pulled off the orange color much better than Red had, but it still wasn’t Liz’s favorite thing. She would pretend however hard she needed to, though, because the expression on Red’s face was priceless.

Red had no choice but to continue with his charade, unless he wanted to give away the rather childish game Liz had caught himself up in.

“Yes, actually.” Red finally replied tersely. “I’ll explain it on the way back to your apartment; time is of the essence.”

“Woah hold on a minute,” Samar stepped forward, her amusement falling away. “That’s not how this deal works, and you know it. We need details.”

“This isn’t to do with the FBI, so no, you don’t.” Red replied flippantly, giving Dembe a look before putting his hand on Liz’s arm. Dembe smoothly slipped free from her grasp and Red turned her around, guiding her toward the elevator with him.

“If it isn’t with the FBI, then you don’t need Elizabeth!” Samar pointed out, calling behind them.

“Of course I do,” Red laughed, “She’s the best profiler I know. I promise to bring her back safe and sound before midnight,” Red turned back around to say. “And I’ll keep my hands to myself all night long!”

“Red!” Liz hissed, elbowing him, but he just smiled that damn disarming smile of his and turned back around once more and continued walking with her to the elevator.

“Okay, my fingers might have been crossed, there.” Red admitted as they stepped into the elevator, and Liz huffed as she rolled her eyes, facing front as Dembe hit the button to close the door.  


**\----------  
**   


Red actually did end up needing her to join him for an event, though Dembe was allowed to change, and it was a simpler, black-tie affair. The men had brought changes of clothes with them, so Liz let them into the house; Dembe changing in the guest bath while Red changed in her bedroom and she in her bathroom.

It provided Red the opportunity to complain about Liz’s reaction to Dembe’s orange attire, calling through the closed doorway between them.

“Why does _he_  get no sassy remarks, teasing names?” Red practically whined, and Liz tried not to vocalize her humor as she couldn’t help but grin.

“Perhaps because _he_  looks good in ‘Tuscan Sunset’,” Liz teased, letting the dress fall over her torso before sitting on the closed toilet lid to pull on her stockings.

“ _He_  was wearing a Rustic Orange, thank you.” Red grumbled, though Liz still heard him, and she snorted softly. She was ready, sans shoes, which were still in her bedroom, so she knocked lightly on the door.

“May I come out, now?” She asked, trying not to think of how Raymond Reddington had, although momentarily and in an entirely nonsexual manner, taken his pants off in her bedroom.

“Certainly,” He replied cheekily, which made her frown. She gave him another minute before opening the door slowly, peeking around it before confirming that he was decent. “What, don’t trust me?” He mock-frowned, and she gave him a dry look.

He was working on the knot of his bow-tie, now; his chin lifted slightly as his fingers worked the fabric with quick familiarity. He wasn’t even looking in her full-length mirror to do so, which she hated that she found it mildly impressive.

He was always impressive in a tux, though.

She turned around and focused on her closet, which was next to the bathroom, and dug around for both pairs of the shoes she wanted to wear. The light-hearted back-and-forth flirting (or whatever it was) was fine enough, but she wasn’t going to start day-dreaming about him. No way; she got over that odd little crush years ago.

This was just a kind of friendly familiarity, a platonic sort of joke between them. Because they worked together so much.

Totally over it.

She sat on the edge of her bed as she secured her heels onto her feet, and he smoothed down the lapel of his jacket and made sure everything was perfectly in place.

“Ready, _Pumpkin_?” Liz teased as she opened the bedroom door and stepped into the hall. She could see Dembe waiting in the main area of the apartment, having changed back into his usual dark attire.

“Yes, _Dear_.” Red rolled his eyes, following after her, and she tried not to show the bounce in her step brought on by his response.  


**\----------  
**   


That ‘off the books’ mission had gone smoothly; Liz profiled the people Red had requested, they danced without causing a scene (or needing to), they snacked and drank without any obnoxious story-telling, and they left without any gun fights or arguments.

Frankly, it was a bit jarring.

Since then, though, Liz started using her nickname on Dembe, who was endlessly amused by it, and by his employer/best friend’s reaction to it.

Red was jealous, there was no other way about it, and he was horrible at hiding it. He glowered every time Liz replied to Dembe with ‘Pumpkin’, and wouldn’t speak to either of them for a good few minutes afterward, even if they’d all been in the middle of a conversation.

He didn’t speak with her directly about it again until the following week, Thanksgiving Day actually, when he showed up on her doorstep.

“Red?” She wondered, taking in his almost casual (for him) appearance, and the large paper bag in his hand.

“Happy holidays, Lizzie!” Red greeted with a smile, and she hesitantly returned the expression. They stood silently in her doorway for a moment before she gestured him inside.

“Why are you,” Liz decided to change her direction of questioning, “Where’s Dembe? Or Baz?”

“With their families.” Red answered simply, hanging his hat on the hooks in the hallway before slipping into the kitchen and setting his bag on the counter. “I do give them holiday vacation time, after all. Unless, of course, the bad guys have other plans.” He winked at her, then.

“Um,” She felt a little thrown, but told him a bit shyly, “I’m, I’m not really celebrating this year. It’s just Agnes and I, and…” She trailed off. He understood better than probably anyone else, after all.

“Perfect.” Red shrugged, reaching into the bag and first pulling out a bottle of wine. He reached in again, and grinned at her, “I only brought one pie.”

He set it on the counter, and she laughed. It was pumpkin.  


**\-----------  
**   


He had somehow procured a pre-cooked turkey, sweet mashed carrots, potatoes, and stuffing; the food telling her that he had planned this out. There was no way any of the local groceries were stocked, plus day-of most places were closed. She was touched by his thoughtfulness, but she did her best not to show him how much.

Their relationship has improved drastically over the past months, but still, she was wary about crossing that line with him… She wasn’t even sure what that line _was_ , exactly. But it was there, firm and solid, and both of them were aware of it, even if they never discussed it.

After they had eaten and Agnes had been bathed (having thoroughly enjoyed mashing her own tiny slice of pumpkin pie all over her eating tray), Liz carried her drowsy form back into the kitchen to find Red washing up the dishes they had used.

“Hey, you brought the food, you don’t have to,” Liz started to protest, but Red shook his head.

“It’s not a problem, Lizzie.” He assured her. She only had to consider it for a moment before she stepped closer to him.

“Well, alright, but why don’t we trade?” She offered, and he turned his head toward her with surprise, his hands pausing beneath the sudsy water. “I can finish up.” She brushed her thumb soothingly across her daughter’s back as she nodded her head toward the sink.

The hopeful look on Red’s face made something inside of her heart, dorkily enough, sort of melt. Or perhaps just stop entirely.

“Yeah?” He wondered hopefully, and she smiled softly at him. His hands darted for the hand towel immediately and he made sure all the soap and water was completely clear from his hands and arms before he held them open for the little girl.

Liz had already apologized profusely for using Agnes as some sort of barter to him, and had allowed him to spend some time with her - within Liz’s presence, of course, she couldn't help her protectiveness over her daughter - on numerous occasions. That didn’t seem to matter, though, because every time Red looked into Agnes’ eyes as he held her, it was like it was a once in a lifetime experience. Like she was a comet, shooting by, and he only had a brief moment to reach out and touch her.

Liz shook the metaphors from her head as he stepped to the side and she took his place in front of the sink. She’d been spending too much time with him; now she was starting to wax all poetic or some such nonsense.

She couldn’t keep the smile from her face, though, as she listened to him coo at her daughter, and the little girl’s joyful giggles in response.

By the time all of the dishes were dried and put away, Agnes had fallen asleep in Red’s arms and he’d tucked her into bed, and returned to the kitchen to pour them both another glass of wine. They’d each only had one during dinner, so there was still plenty left in the bottle.

It was very good - of course, Red only bought the best - and Liz easily accepted the fresh glass. They leaned against the counters across from one another, sipping in companionable silence, and Liz tried not to think of how domestic this all was.

“Thank you, Lizzie.” Red murmured, his voice barely breaking the comfortable quiet between them.

“What - I should thank _you_ ; you’re the one who brought the food, and,”

“You didn’t have to let me in,” Red pointed out. “We both know that there was a long time where you wouldn’t have.”

“I - you know I’m beyond that, now,” Liz replied, mildly embarrassed. Red shook his head and set his wine glass down on the counter, and stepped closer to her.

“I don’t mean to accuse you of the past,” He insisted gently, his hands light against her upper arms. “I just mean to thank you for today.”

She blinked at his proximity; he was still within friendly distance, but…

She twisted to set her glass down as well, his hands falling away from her at the movement, but she didn’t want him to pull away so she grabbed his hands in her own quickly.

“Red,” She sighed, all sorts of different emotions coloring her tone. His eyes glinted with mischief momentarily, and she tugged his hands back, setting them on the counter either side of her and covering them with her own. The glint in his eyes turned into cautious questioning, and she slipped her arms low about his waist before he could voice anything.

She closed her eyes as she tucked her chin over his shoulder, finding it rather easy to hug him. Only a moment went by before his hands shifted from the counter and onto her back, holding her against him as he returned the hug.

He let out a breath against her hair, his body relaxing in her embrace. They held one another until she realized they were breathing together, and then even longer still.

Eventually a sharp click of clarity burst through her moment of content and she pulled her head back to look at him, her hands sliding against his arms. She worried that the moment was becoming too intimate; his hands only went as far as her waist, though, and he pulled away no further.

His eyes were dark and soft and expectant of nothing; for once, he had no snarky quip on the edge of his tongue, or some amusing story to diffuse the emotion in the room. He was waiting on her.

Their noses brushed, and he rumbled out her name,

“Lizzie?”

“Yes,” She replied, more in encouragement than in question, her eyes having already drifted closed. This was it, this was the line - and she was hurdling over it without a look back.

“Please stop referring to Dembe as ‘Pumpkin’.” He requested, and she snorted, and lightly punched his arm. This drew them apart again, and he smiled in amusement.

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, noticing him glance down toward it briefly.

“Raymond?” She whispered, and he was staring at her mouth now, as if he couldn’t believe his name had sounded from it. He was holding his breath. The last time she’d called him by his first name… “Would you like to stay?”

His gaze darted up toward her eyes again, that cautious questioning clear once more.

“Please?” She slid her hand up and across his shoulder, fiddling with the collar of his button-up.

It wasn’t just an action of encouragement; she was nervous. The two of them were volatile, and they both knew it. They were perfect pieces of a puzzle when they got along, but when they didn’t? More like a nuclear bomb, taking themselves out and everyone within distance around them.

She was almost as afraid of him saying ‘Yes’ as she was of him saying ‘No’.

“Lizzie,” He sighed, as if he’d dropped an immense weight from his shoulders, and his fingers drifted carefully up to cradle her jaw, holding her as he kissed her.

It was nothing like she imagined - and, alright, whatever, she’d thought about it. It was timid, respectful; the touch of his lips just as careful as the touch of his hands. He kissed her slowly, achingly slowly, his mouth sliding against hers and then pulling away again as if he were trying to give her multiple opportunities to push him away. Except he kept dipping back in. And she kept letting him.

She slipped her hand around his nape and against the back of his head, opening her mouth, and that was when he moaned. He moaned like a starving man who’d just been offered a buffet of his favorite foods, tilting his head and deepening the kiss and okay - _this_  was a bit more like how she’d imagined it happening.

In the span of a few seconds he lifted her up onto the counter, and his hands drifted down to her knees as she wrapped her legs around his hips, gasping between kisses because neither of them wanted to stop long enough to catch their breath.

All the little looks and touches over the years seemed to explode inside of her all at once, lighting her nerve endings on fire, making every part of her that he now touched extra sensitive. His mouth was fire and his fingers were lightning and he kept moaning as if she felt the same way for him.

He rolled his hips once, but firm, and both of them wrenched their mouths apart, staring at one another. They seemed to mutually realize that they were making out on her kitchen counter like a couple of teenagers, but neither of them moved.

“Raymond,” She was mildly embarrassed to find herself panting, but too aroused to really care about it. His brow furrowed and he closed his eyes.

“I — ” His throat caught and he swallowed, and she couldn’t keep her hands from drifting over the buttons of his shirt. She didn’t pull them open, yet, but she was projecting her desire to do so. “I’m not prepared for this,” He admitted, and she froze.

Shit, of course. The kissing was nice - damn, unbelievably nice - but making love ( _Fuck, Liz, 'making love'?_ ) was something else entirely. Too much, too soon. They were too volatile. It made sense.

Forcing her libido to pipe down a little, she slowly removed her hands from his person and sat up straight, brushing her hair behind her ear. She relaxed the grip of her knees around his waist as well, making sure he felt free to pull away from her. She had nowhere to go, after all, considering she was trapped between him and the counter she was sitting on top of.

She shivered at that thought, and inwardly scolded herself.

“Right,” She said wearily, and cleared her throat. She could feel the flush blooming across her skin; it wasn’t one of arousal, now, it was one of embarrassment.

“ _No_ ,” He replied urgently, causing her to dart her eyes toward his. His hand on the side of her thigh gripped tightly, almost admonishingly. “Not - that’s not what I meant,” He grunted in frustration, and stepped from her completely, reaching for his glass of wine and swallowing deeply.

“Oh…kay?” She wondered carefully, brushing her bangs out of her eyes.

“I don’t have any _protection_ ,” He complained, berating himself, and she blinked.

All of a sudden her heart was racing again.

“Reddington, come here,” She ordered him, not angrily, a small smile on her face. He hesitated, but he put his glass back down and approached her again.

When he was within reach she rest her hands gently against his sides, brushing her thumbs against the softness of his shirt for a moment. When he noticeably relaxed a little, she slid her hands further back, tugging him closer. He stepped easily between her knees once more, his own hands landing against her hips. She leaned her torso forward, wanting some space between their lower bodies so she could slide her hands back around front, pressing gently against his stomach now.

“It’s alright,” She assured him, her nose touching his again. “Save that for later.”

“Later?” He repeated against her lips, his eyes still wide open. He didn’t quite believe that there would be a later, but she knew better - now that they’ve done this, obliterated the line like this, there was no going back. Not for her, and she doubted for him, either.

She nodded her assurance, kissing him gently as she slowly twisted her wrist and slid her palm down the front seam of his trousers. His lips hung open against hers, not quite kissing as they shared breaths, as she palmed him slowly until she felt him growing hard within the confining fabric.

New thrills of electricity shot through her and just like that he was kissing her deeply once more, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth as she blindly opened up his belt and pulled it from the loops. It dropped with a clatter on her linoleum floor, but neither of them paid it any attention as his own palms ghosted all over her, as if he couldn’t decide where he wanted to touch her the most. She tugged free his button-up from the waist of his trousers, and then began unbuttoning it, her mouth moving with much more intent than the slow gestures of her fingers.

His hands slipped beneath her blouse and they had to stop kissing so he could pull it over her head, quickly dropping it to the side as their mouths met once more, his palms burning across all the new skin revealed to him.

She dipped her hand inside of his open pants just as he pulled open the back latch of her bra, and he had to anchor his hands against her back and his face against her neck when she stroked him for the first time.

Liz could barely believe that it was _her_  hand around _his_  cock, but her freshly-sparked arousal won over her amazement of the moment and she began exploring him with a slow touch, listening to the noises he made as answers for what he liked the most.

He was leaking with his own arousal and she used that to soften her touch, stroking it over his skin and causing a deep groan to fall from somewhere deep within his chest. His breath panted against her ear and his fingers shook against her skin as he pushed them beneath her loosened bra. His thumb brushing against her nipple made her gasp and squeeze him a little more firmly, which in turn made him groan again.

In playful retaliation, she reached a little lower to massage him a bit, and he moaned her name against the curve of her neck. His fingers scrambled at the button of her jeans now, and she knew he was trying to distract himself with her so he wouldn’t come yet.

Selfishly, she helped him divulge her of her jeans and panties, and the granite countertop was cold but soon enough she didn’t care because he was exploring between her legs with careful but attentive fingers.

He started making even more noises finding out just how aroused she was, which only made her further aroused, and she curled her hand around his cock again, twisting and pumping with intent now.

“Lizzie,” He warned, his hands gripping her hips now, as he tried to steady himself. She could feel his muscles quivering with the effort to withhold his own pleasure, but she wanted him to come first. She was speechless watching him fall apart beneath her touch and she wanted to complete the experience while she could still focus on him.

“Yes,” She encouraged breathily, kissing along his jaw and the curve of his ear. “C’mon, Pumpkin,”

He blurted out a laugh, the sound becoming desperate as he pulsed in her hand, coming onto her thigh. She continued to mouth his neck as she worked him through it, continuing to move her hand along his length until he was completely spent, and he released a long sigh against her shoulder.

They were silent as he gasped for air, trying to regain his equilibrium, and then he shook with laughter as he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

“I hate you,” He laughed, and she laughed as well, sliding her clean hand lovingly against the back of his head again.

“No you don’t,” She grinned, “Pumpkin.”

He lifted his head to look at her, and his expression took her breath away. His eyes were bright and full and… otherworldly, filled with emotion she didn’t want to put a name to. He kissed her softly, like their first kiss had been, and blindly reached for the washrag they’d previously used on the dishes to wipe off her leg.

“That’s cold!” She yelped, smacking his arm, and he laughed again, tossing the rag into the sink as he grasped her knees and tugged her forward on the counter a little.

“I’ll warm you up, then,” He replied cheekily, his eyes drifting wolfishly down her body before he looked back into her eyes.

Just like that, her laughing mood was gone, and she grabbed onto his revealed undershirt and yanked him closer, kissing him urgently.

He eventually trailed his kisses down her body, pausing only briefly on her breasts before gently guiding her back onto the countertop, lying her flat as he mouthed the curve of her hip.

She probably should’ve been embarrassed by how quickly he made her come with his mouth, but it had felt entirely too good for her to really care.

“My God,” Red mused after she’d landed back on earth and he held himself over her on the countertop so he could look her in the eyes. “I may never drink wine again.” He declared seriously, and she snorted and shoved her hand against his chest.

“Shut up,” She replied without any real meaning, pushing herself up into sitting position as he backed away slightly.

They grinned lopsided smiles at one another, and Liz tucked her hair behind her ear again.

“I meant it, you know.” Liz told him, before she figured he could start wondering about what to do next.

He furrowed his brow questioningly at her, though his general expression was still one of sated blissfulness, and her heart swelled with happiness and a sort of pride that _she_  had helped him feel that way.

“I’d like you to stay.”

His expression softened, and his smile widened.

“I would like that, too.”

* * *

 


End file.
